7-26-04
Since I wrote last we've been basking in the glow of a new car purchase...and worrying about the increased responsibility of going into debt for transportation. A new car is a beautiful thing, and we get one about every ten years, still, that's rare enough in our family to make me sleep poorly. Working in high tech as I do, job security is iffy at best.
      Sue has quite a stable job working in the public schools with handicapped kids. There are always children with special needs who require her skills. I'm sorry to say there are also far too many careless parents who allow their children to ride in cars without seat belts. They show up after the accident in Sue's classroom in their brand new wheel chairs.
      We bought the car on Tuesday and by Friday we'd realized that what everyone said about regular cab pickups was true: you need more room. Saturday morning I began calling around looking for canopies and tonneau covers. After about an hour I found a used canopy at kanopykingdom.com in Fife, about an hour away.
       By a strange stroke of luck, he had a used Leer canopy in mint condition in our exact paint color. This was not the cheaper plastic canopy Clint found for his Tacoma. This was a top of the line Fiberglass canopy with a price to match, even used. Ah well, what are visa cards for? In for a dime, in for a dollar, as the old saying goes.
       After we got the canopy Sue and I went rollerblading in the north end, marveling every time we got out of the truck at how pretty it was with the new canopy. It looks kind of like a stretched out Chevy Blazer, or a short minivan. Between Saturday evening and about 2 PM on Sunday we washed and waxed both cars and I built a bed liner to protect the floor of the new truck.
       After climbing in and out of the bed about 50 times fine tuning the fit of the one quarter inch plywood bedliner, I noticed I'd dented the inside of the truck gate with my knees. It's really only an access plate for working on the latch, but it is 7 inches tall and runs the full width of the door. You'd think they would build it thick enough to resist my bony old knees. I tried to bolt on a protective plate of plywood over the inside of the door to prevent further damage but the screws were too short. Guess that will be next weeks project.
       During the afternoon on Sunday I wrote bills and gave the Corolla a tune up replacing the spark plugs, distributor cap, rotor, wires and air filter. In the cooler air of evening Sue and I took our bicycles out and rode pole line road. It must be all re-runs on Sunday night TV because the motorcyclists and ATV riders were out in force, throwing up huge clouds of choking dust. At one point visibility was down to about 20 feet...not our best trip down poleline. Still, it was great to get out and realize there was life without cars.
       It's Monday now and I feel as if I was driven over by a truck...possibly mine. I guess I'd better get busy doing lesson plans, I have payments to make.

My first truck
7-21-04
Looking ahead I saw the gravel shoulder tilt up at a 45 degree angle and narrow down to about 6 inches. Heavy trucks roared by inches from my left elbow on the traffic swollen corner of River Road. It didn't help that the road construction had funneled all the traffic into 2 narrow southbound lanes. I stopped my bicycle and stared balefully at the relentless stream of motorists venting their road rage by jetting through the construction area at fifty miles an hour.
      After 5 minutes I realized there would be no break in the traffic. A bicyclist had no business being here; there was probably a back road alternative to this route because I couldn't imagine any sane person riding through these deadly corners with six inch shoulders.
       I saw a logging truck come around the corner, leaving a little gap as he struggled with his gears and realized my chance had come. I launched into the main road and heard him hit his brakes, which allowed me to get past the 50 foot narrow section to the "safety" of a row of bright red construction barrels.
       There was still no real shoulder, but the road branched to the right in the uncontrolled chaos of a major arterial being re-paved and rerouted. Cars were waiting to merge...good luck!...and I was simply trying to avoid getting run over by the screaming hotheads behind me who might or might not try to bluff me out of the way as I pedaled through the uncontrolled intersection.
       When I came to the bridge, I lifted the bike over the guard rail and slid down the embankment far enough so the traffic couldn't see me. I tore my pack off and stripped off my hot school jeans and shirt, balancing in the loose dirt and broken beer bottles as I changed into shorts, sandals and no shirt.
      We've been having a heat wave and today was muggy to boot so the cooler riding clothes felt awesome. The road widened and flattened out as it ran along the Puyallup river for 6 miles toward Puyallup. The shoulder was a full lane wide and relatively free of shattered glass. I got into a rhythm and began eating up the miles in tenth gear.
       I'd left Tacoma kind of on a whim. The bus from college had let me out near the bank. When I got the thousand dollars out, I had thirty minutes to spare and didn't feel like sitting at the transit station with all the angry poor people. Instead, I thought I might take a stab at beating the bus to Puyallup. Hell, in a half hour, I might be able to actually pull it off. How was I supposed to know about the road construction?
       But now, all was smooth sailing as I cruised along in top gear on my antique 1973 Sekai ten speed. It's remarkably well preserved, like it's owner, and we've been though hell together. When I bought it I was living in a tipi and nineteen years old...thought I new everything there was to know.
     The shoulder turned to modern sidewalks with frequent ups and downs at the driveways of the many River Road businesses. It looked like I was getting close to town. After about 40 minutes of riding I saw my bus go by...rats! Would have been faster to hang with the poor folks, but this was more fun.
       Suddenly, far before I expected it I saw the sign for Toyota of Puyallup. I stopped, took off my sunglasses, put on a tank top and pedaled the last block to the dealership. I rode right up to the tricked out front entry way of the biggest Toyota dealer in South Puget Sound and locked my old beater to the hand rail.
       Shouldering my pack I opened the massive front door and walked into the air conditioned lobby, sweat from the 95 degree weather still dripping off my face. I saw my salesman about the same time he saw me and he got up and walked over, shaking my hand warmly.

"Hi Mark, how are you doing today?"

"Not bad, I just pedaled here from town. That's my bike out there. Is my truck ready to go?"

"Yes, it's right outside. We just have a little paperwork to do and you can be on your way."

"Oh, you mean the $4000 deposit I owe you?"

"Well, that and a few other things," he said.

"Say, do you think there is any chance I can take it for a test drive before plunking down my final money? We bought it sight unseen, and have never even test driven this model."

"Absolutely!" he said with a funny grin. "I'll just grab some plates and the keys and we can take a spin." First thing I did was crawl under it, checking to see if it was elegant as the Ranger I'd looked at the day before. No worries there, it was even prettier with all the wires and suspension running cleanly along the bottom of the car.
      Under the hood it was about as I had suspected: a beautiful example of world class engineering featuring a state of the art, 2.4 liter, fuel injected four banger. The differences between it and the Ford Ranger were glaringly obvious. On the Ranger, the intake manifold pipes were all plastic, on the Toyota Tacoma, they were chrome coated cast iron...possibly aluminum, but looking very beefy indeed.
      We took it for a test drive and it was a little better than I had expected, considering it was a bare bones, bottom of the line two wheel drive pickup. But, at least it was a Toyota and no one had abused it for 60,000 miles before trading it in.
      One of the salesmen at another dealership had put it very succinctly, "Think about it this way: if you get a loan for 3 years at $150 a month on a used car with 60,000 miles, by the time you get it paid off, you'll have over a hundred thousand miles on the car with no way of knowing, for sure, what kind of care the car received for the first half of it's life.
       "On the other hand, if you buy a new car, and make basically the same payment, but for 5 years, when you make your final payment, the truck will still be newer, and have half the miles of the used car and you'll know how every mile was driven.
      "Plus, because you bought a popular Toyota Tacoma, you'll have a young, very marketable used car in high demand. People like yourself will be clamoring to buy it the moment you put it up for sale. That's assuming you don't simply want to keep the car and put a couple hundred thousand miles on it."

     After having spent the last two days fruitlessly searching all over the Seattle, Tacoma and Olympia area for a used Toyota truck or Corolla in good condition, I realized her logic was sound. People simply don't sell Toyota Tacoma's. Or if they do, they are tricked out 4 wheel drive bushwhackers and priced far beyond my means with extras that are totally unnecessary.
      A bare bones two wheel drive Toyota is simply not seen on the used market. The people who buy them get them for keeps. Despite this grand logic, I've been sleeping very poorly since deciding to make $174 car payments for 5 years. That's the price of borrowing $9400 at 3.99% interest.
     We've never had to make car payments for longer than 3 years and they've always been under a hundred. Of the three new cars I've bought before this one, I've only made payments on the'75 Gremlin and the Windstar and those were both 3 years or less and the amounts were under $80 a month.
         The middle car, an '86 Dodge Caravan was paid for out of an unexpected windfall when the family glass company was sold down in Oakland California, netting all 40 cousins about fifteen thousand dollars each. Unlike my wiser cousin Andy, I didn't use the money to go back to college, Sue and I ran down and paid cash for a new minivan.
     But that's all water under the bridge now. We are the proud owner of a brand new two wheel drive Toyota Tacoma pickup, standard cab, dual air bags, cassette player and air conditioning. I'm extremely happy with how much more durable and practical the pick up trucks are built compared to cars. The body on frame vehicle concept is much simpler.
        Everything is more open and nothing is crowded in the engine compartment with the exception of the fuel filter. It's in the same place as Clint's Tacoma: under the intake manifold, only accessible if you remove the wheel, and cramped at best.
     I know I'll be hating life when it snows or the roads are icy, but the rest of the time this is a far more durable and trouble free drive train. No more problems with cv joints! Plus I can always throw a bunch of sand bags in the back as Clint does and maybe even buy some studded snow tires. The ABS braking will help to keep me out of trouble, but primarily I'll be trusting my cautious nature and the years of experience driving the Gremlin in all weather. It's only been 12 years since we sold it. I'm sure it'll all come back.

Adventures in commuting
7-15-04
My lesson plan was coming together with agonizing slowness this afternoon as I tried to finish and print before leaving to catch the 5:15 bus. I had it almost done before realizing there was a much easier way to write the actionscript using half the code I had originally planned on.
      I tested the new code, found it worked flawlessly and rewrote the last page of the lesson, capturing screen shots and cropping them in Photoshop before importing to PowerPoint. I added a couple arrows pointing from the descriptive text to the screen shot and pressed print.
       Stealing another look at my watch, I saw it was 5:02. This was my third day of riding the bus and I'd never made it from the college to the transit center in under 13 minutes. Well, today I'd just have to beat my record. I wheeled the bike out of my office door and hopped right on, praying no one would see me pedaling down the long carpeted hallway to the exit door.
      I blew through the double doors at 15 miles an hour (love those wheelchair buttons) and hit the arterials, standing on the pedals for maximum power. Wouldn't you know it, there was a 10 knot head wind coming from the direction of the Lakewood mall transit center, my destination 2 miles away.
      The lights were all in my favor and I pulled in just as the driver was starting the motor in a time of 7 minutes, heart and lungs straining for oxygen. I stood there for 30 seconds, trying to decide if I was ok before loading the bike on the bus rack. I rarely sprint like that anymore. If there is a steep hill, I go up it slowly but steadily, never sprinting.
       The bus ride was the usual mix of "salt of the earth" personalities with a few normal people mixed in for contrast. At the transit center at TCC, with a 4 minute switch over time, I grabbed the bike and walked quickly over to the bus for Gig Harbor, loaded the bike on the rack and picked a window seat for a good view of the Narrows.
         When I looked around I realized I didn't recognize anyone. I peered up to the front of the bus but didn't see any indicators of what route I had boarded. Hmmm, I wonder if I'm on the wrong bus...it's been one of those days. I got up and craned my neck to see the bus route sign post next to the door. Oh no! I'm on route 16. I walked up and asked the driver if this was the 200 route to Gig Harbor. He looked at me strangely and said no, this was 16 to South Tacoma.
      I hustled out the door, grabbed the bike off the rack and ran toward the soon to depart 100 bus. I saw the driver waving at me. Ooops, forgot to fold up the rack, ran back, folded the rack and sprinted toward the Gig Harbor bus. She was already turning her wheels to leave but stopped when she saw me coming. I loaded the bike, checked the route number carefully to make sure it was the 100 route and boarded.
       We drove for 10 minutes and stopped in heavy traffic where sixth avenue hits Jackson. A phone rang and the drive picked up and talked briefly before hollering back that there was a bad wreck on the bridge and we would be delayed. I heard groans around me as the long distance commuters realized they would miss their connections to Port Orchard and points farther west. I sat there and stewed for a few minutes while the bus crept six inches forward every 30 seconds.
      Looking out the window I noticed we were beside a bus stop. I grabbed my pack and walked up to the front. "I think I'll just get out and pedal, is this a stop?" She looked a little affronted as she said, "Yes, it's a stop, but we might get you there faster if you stay on board, we are getting close." "I think I'll chance it" I said and exited, lifting my bike off. As I put my helmet on I heard her honking at me. Damn! Forgot to pop up her bike rack again!
      Soon I was blowing by the steaming stopped traffic at full speed, enjoying the brief feeling of being somehow better than the thousands of people stuck in their air conditioned gas guzzlers. It could just as easily have been me in that traffic had I not sold my van; regardless, today I was the speed king and I left many a frustrated commuter hollering epithets into the exhaust filled air as I blew by in the blue afternoon wind.

7-12-04
Went climbing yesterday at exit 38 on Snoqualmie pass with Sue and Lisa. They were both in good spirits for a change and seemed to enjoy the climbing. Several other couples were up there with children ranging from newborns to 9 year olds. I felt a certain measure of pride sharing the rope with my wife of 26 years and my 16 year old daughter.
       Staying married for 26 years is more than many people can handle, not to mention raising a charming, intelligent teenager who, against all odds has managed to reach 16 without a single tattoo. I guess I'm sounding smug this morning...must be the coffee.
       I was climbing much better than my last trip 3 weeks ago with my buddy Mark L. When I got to the run out crux on the easy 5.6 route below the bridge I thought at first that I'd back off. The space between the bolts was at least 15 feet. A blown move at the bolt would result in a 30 foot fall...not a happy thought. It's a relatively smooth slab so I (probably?!) wouldn't snag an ankle. Still, I hate run out routes. Why chance a fall?
       There I was, balancing on the safety of the holds by the bolt, staring grimly at the next bolt 15 feet above me on the 80 degree slab of basalt. If I just launched myself out there without planning what holds I would use I could easily have a panic attack.
        Instead, I talked myself out of the rising wave of fear and clinically examined the nearby holds. Here's a plan, I thought, how about if I just take one step up onto the big hold right there just above the bolt. If it feels too scary, the bolt will be right by my ankles and I can reach down and grab it, then lower myself down below the bolt and let Lisa hold me there with the rope.
       I stepped onto the slippery looking hold and was surprised at how well my rock shoe rubber stuck. My foot didn't move at all and felt totally secure. Well...what d'ya know? This is easy, a monkey could do it! I took another step up, memorizing the moves so I could still just take one step down and grab the bolt. No problem, hey, looky there, now that I'm up higher I can see more holds. The panic had all but subsided and I'm actually getting in the groove. A little scary, but the holds are all there, Lisa, 40 feet below is belaying me with Sue supervising...what could go wrong? Two more moves that look like they ought to work and I can grab the jug below the next bolt.
      The rest of the day went about the same. It was a good day of climbing. I even climbed the 5.9 crack without getting the shakes. The Iron Horse bike path that runs under the cliff is getting more popular every trip. There was a steady stream of bikers of all ages and weights pedaling up and down below the cliff. I even saw a young couple pedal up with two toddlers in a trailer attached to the husbands bicycle. He was sweating profusely while his slim lycra clad wife was cool as a cucumber.
       Many of the people riding the trail are overweight, but at least they are exercising. I'm down to 160 and holding which is a ten pound loss in a month. I hope to loose another 10 pounds by following my simple diet: pig out at dinner and stay hungry all day, eating just enough not to feel starvation pains.
        I've learned that hunger is easier to tolerate if you are seriously hungry for large parts of the day, every day. There is however, a line you will cross between hunger and seriously starving. When I get to that point, I have a small snack, usually half a sandwich or a few almonds. I also drink lots of water and swear by my three cups of coffee a day. The creamer has 40 calories a serving but I gotta have my joe.
       The van is gone now and it's weird being a one car family. Our remaining car, a 91 Toyota station wagon has 204,000 miles but runs beautifully. Clint has his truck of course, but he is gone so much working or riding that he doesn't count as far as being a car we could use.
        Sue, Lisa and I all work and coordinating three different commutes with one car will be grimm. I hope to do some coordinating with the bus system to get to work. Sue and Lisa work the morning and afternoon respectively, which helps a lot. Obviously, buying a replacement used car is a high priority. I have about $4000 in the bank to work with...guess I could make payments. My job situation over the last 5 years has been to scary too sign up for car payments.
       All our cards are paid off, and we only have 7 years to go on our mortgage, with the payments under $500 so financially we are in good shape IF we hold onto our jobs. Speaking of my job, I need to stop writing about my life and start living it. This is Monday, my "day off", but I have lesson plans to do.

7-10-04
Sold our 96 minivan yesterday to a young family of five. I have mixed feelings about selling such a reliable car. We've had bad luck in the past trying to keep an old car going, once blowing $4000 on engine work done by dishonest mechanics. I tend to get sentimental about cars that have treated me well.
        This one has never died on the road or failed to start. It doesn't run hot or lose/burn any fluids. Right now, it's most serious problem is a windshield sprayer that doesn't work. The motor runs, and fluid comes out of the nozzles but not with enough power to get to the windshield. It needs to be blown out with high pressure air, but I don't have a compressor.
       The transmission acted up for a while...not enough to ever really scare us or keep us from where we were going, but it was kind of weird. Turned out to just need a fluid flush and additive treatment. It's been flawless for about a year so I considered it fixed and didn't mention it to the new buyers. If they hadn't of jewed me down so far on the price I might have been more frank about the minor, mostly forgettable problems it has. Besides, they aren't really serious problems...it get's me to work every day just fine.
       Now however, it's gone. It was dumb for one guy to be commuting to work in a bus. We needed a little commuter. I'm not looking forward to car hunting. It's a time consuming process. I don't know enough about cars to distinguish the good ones from the bad ones. If I find one, I have to schedule a buyer's inspection with my mechanic and pay him $60 each time I make a mistake.

7-6-04
Went for a long bike ride yesterday. I was supposed to have gone climbing with Dave, but he called up at midnight to say he had burnt his hand in the 4th of July festivities and needed to bail. I assumed it was simply more drunken debauchery but at school today one of the teachers showed me a bad bruise on his stomach where he had shot himself with a bottle rocket...no alcohol involved.
       I don't do fireworks. For some reason they don't excite me. I like to go watch a professional show about every ten years, but doing it myself...not my cup of tea. Even though Dave had bailed on me I still wanted to do something exercise related. Sue and I cobbled together a trip to Tacoma to pedal the hills. Before we left, someone called wanting to see the van but halfway to Tacoma the traffic was dead stopped. We called the buyer on his cell phone to tell him he'd have to drive to us because the bridge had shut down going his direction and he lost interest.
       By that time the day had really gone to hell in a hand basket so Sue and I split up. I took my bike out of the car and told her I'd pedal home for adventure and she took her sore back home to rest. I cycled all over town for a couple hours, exploring back roads, the bridge construction and the airport. I'd hoped to catch the B-26 Liberator but it had flown away the day before.
       Finally I decided I'd better start pedaling for home and turned my bike toward the west. I've never pedaled all the way home from the Narrows bridge but it was something I needed to do before I could be sure I could ever pedal to work. I've pedaled from work to the bridge and a little further, but never both.
       It took me an hour and a half and turned out to be a real bear. It didn't help any that I am still on my starvation rations diet (10 pounds lost in 3 weeks). Looking at the hills leading up from the spit to the highlands of the peninsula I realized I'd have to stop and get more water and a power bar. There was no logic in fainting with traffic roaring by at fifty.
       Most of the time I was able to stay on back roads but twice I had to pedal on high speed freeways or highways for a half mile. Finally I reached the pole line road and let out a whoop of delight at being on familiar territory. It's a narrow winding dirt road that practically runs past my back yard (2 blocks away) and I know every inch and wrecked car along it's 6 mile length as it traverses the peninsula. My knees are sore today, but it was worth it.
       Bicycling along roads that one usually commutes over gives one a different perspective. When your muscles have experienced the gravity of the land first hand, things seem a little more real. I sat for 20 minutes on the beach at the spit drinking water and eating an energy bar. People were lying out in the sun working on their tans, jet-skis were roaring around on the bay...it was nice sitting there knowing I was halfway home and there was no hurry at all.
      The day before the bike ride, Sunday, I drove up to Rainier by myself and painted two landscapes. I got halfway through a drawing of Christine Falls before the light changed. (need to get there at 10AM for the light) I packed up my gear and drove up to a good view of Pinnacle Peak where I was able to get halfway through the painting before clouds completely covered the peak. I still felt like painting so I kept working, even though all I could see was the lower third.
       I was surprised at how much my mind had remembered about the flow of light around the upper facets of the mountain. Most of my color choices are guesses anyway, and with the outline drawn in when it was visible, I simply did more guessing than usual. Painters haven't always had cameras for backup. I had my digital with me but was on an honesty crusade and left it in my pack all day.

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